Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 157: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

7 , WHEN A TURKEY’S AN ELEPHANT, 151 sides off or the insides out and otherwise preparing a bird for the great rite of feast- ing. “Now that we got the blooming thing, what ’ll we do with it?” I asked hopelessly as we surveyed our regal prisoner. I was beginning to wonder if, after all, Lady Luck wasn’t a hoodoo masquerading in skirts, ‘“ That’s what I was wondering,” admit- ted Bill. “‘ We can’t eat it alive.” We debated the problem from various angles, and finally decided that the only thing to do was to sell the turkey. We lugged the crate down the street to a meat market, but the proprietor laughed at us when we asked him if he wanted to buy a turkey. “T’ve got a dozen here I’d like to sell myself at half price before closing time,” he informed us, We tried another market, with like re- sult. At the third place we offered to swap the live turkey for one half its size dressed and cleaned. When this offer failed to arouse enthu- siasm we tried to get a few links of frank- furters, but it seemed that the turkey mar- ket was clogged to capacity. Taking up our burden, we next tried a restaurant, but met with no better luck there. The proprietor had stocked up on everything for the holiday and would not even give us a couple of square meals for it unless we would kill and dress it. After. another conference of war, Bill stayed with the crate, while I went back to the raffle place and tried to pick up a customer. Everybody in the crowd was so certain he would win a turkey before the evening was over, however, that there was no market for an outright sale. The only man that showed any interest had spent ten dollars on chances and had only fifty cents left. When I eagerly of- fered to sell him a fifteen-pound turkey for half a dollar he lost all desire to buy it and was curious only to learn what it was dying of. I mournfully returned to Bill and broke the sad news, Not knowing whai else to do, we lugged ot FZ — Ae <a ed = a ae : 2 - ae ee to the abandoned shack on the outskirts of the village where we had been making our headquarters since we hit the burg the day before. The crate was awkward to carry, be- cause every time the turkey moved—and it was constantly moving—the entire outfit would tip. Again and again we stumbled over ruts in the darkness, after we got beyond the lighted district. We were all in by the time we finally reached the shack and set the load down. A last-minute inspiration on Bill’s part sent us stumbling down the road for half a mile to the nearest farmhouse, to open negotiations with a farmer to kill and dress the turkey for us. The farmer, however, became so suspicious that we finally told him to “ never mind,” and started back to the shack. As we went out of the yard we saw the farmer emerge hurriedly from the house with a lantern and head for his poultry run. Loud squawks breaking the stillness of the night proclaimed to us that he was taking an inventory. Our vision of a bounteous holiday feast was going a-glimmering. We had reached the stage where we would gladly have given the turkey away, but wouldn’t dare offer it to anybody for fear we would land in the lockup. If Bill and I hadn’t been so tender- hearted, we might have considered aban- doning the turkey and letting it starve to death. What to do with it? That was the prob- lem. We couldn’t eat it, we couldn’t sell — it, we couldn’t swap it, we couldn’t give it away, and we couldn’t leave it to starve. That turkey bad proved a white elephant indeed. It was about as useful to us as a six-burner gas heater to a man doing a balancing act on the equator. We were wishing we had our dime back. I dreamed about groaning banquet tables all night, and I guess Bill did likewise, for he rolled out in the morning with fire in his eyes and announced that he was going to kill the turkey. He went so far as to Start prying off one of the slats of the crate, but remembered that we didn’t have any ax, We warmed over some dregs in the coffee-